


Making Marks

by SicOfElephants



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: M/M, handjobs, i blame discord, my two(2) plane boys, tattooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 11:18:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15118262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SicOfElephants/pseuds/SicOfElephants
Summary: John Seed gives Nick Rye a tattoo, and thoroughly enjoys it.





	Making Marks

**Author's Note:**

> I'm terrible at writing. This is for Seb.

The quickly ignited relationship between Nick Rye and John Seed was once of the most unexpected things to come out of three strange brothers moving into town and taking over most of the farmland and businesses around the Seed Ranch. Most people saw them as total opposites, John Seed slick and polished, always in incredible shirts, mysterious and charming and intense to be around. Nick Rye was rough and humble, always with grease on his hands, and he cut the sleeves off his thrift store flannel shirts himself. He’d never been outside Holland Valley before, and John had travelled the world. But the two sat together grinning and trading friendly barbs in the Spread Eagle, or in Nick’s hangar almost every night of the week. John Seed didn’t drink much, said he didn’t have a taste for it, though no one quite believed that, but with enough goading from Nick sometimes he’d indulge in a beer. Light, if they had it. Sometimes he drank enough that his cheeks would flush a faint pink, and he’d laugh harder than usual at Nick’s terrible jokes. Sometimes he would drink so much that Nick would have to throw him across the back seat of his truck and drive him home, John passing out as soon as his face hit the cushion. This night was one in-between those, and the alcohol had seemed to bring out John’s devilish streak. 

“So, come on then, Nick Rye. I know you’ve been eying my tattoos whenever I roll my sleeves up. Out with it.” Nick laughed at him, drinking more beer, and slamming his bottle down a little too roughly on the table between them. 

“Out with what, Seed? I-I, hic, don’t know what you are talkin’ about.”

“I know that you are going to say the same thing to me as everyone else. Oh, John, what do they mean to you? Oh, John, didn’t it hurt when you got them done? Oh, John, don’t you worry you’ll come to regret them in the future.” He was slurring his words slightly, leaning well across the table as he spoke loudly to Nick. The pair were trashed. “Don’t-don’t they know that the future doesn’t mean shit any more?”

“Hey, naw, man, I don’t care what tattoos mean or nothin’, I just…” a burp escaped as he spoke, “I just think they are fuckin’ sweet, man. That is some really great ink.” John slowly gave him a huge radiant smile. His tattoos were one of his biggest sources of pride. 

“Is that right, hm? Say, Nick… do you have any tattoos?” He was smirking at him now, the way he did when he was toying with anyone, with an idea forming in his hazy mind. 

“Nah, man, my Dad had tattoos, and my Grandpa had tattoos, and I always wanted tattoos. But I wanted somethin-somethin’ that like, brought together both of ‘em, and like had eagles and shit in it, y’know? Somethin’ for the Rye Sons, a-and Hope County, and stuff like that. It’s gotta be great.” John shook his head, trying to stifle a burp of his own, before talking. 

“No, no, no, no, Nick, that is not the way to live your life, you have to-- you have to seize every opportunity, every moment, you, you have to say Yes to more things around you!” 

“I dunno that tattoos are an opportunity, John, ain’t like someone is offerin’ me one. Have to go get one yourself, and I know nothin’ will be good enough for what I have in my head.” This was what John had been waiting for, and he jumped on that kernel of thought.

“I will give you your tattoo.” 

“...you’ll fuckin’ what?” Nick looked at him with his face screwed up, tilting it to the side like he didn’t trust where this was going. 

“I’ll give you one!” 

“Nah, no way man, how are you even gonna do that?” 

“Nick, I did most of my own tattoos. I’ve had practice, come on, say yes, you will not regret it.” 

“Y-you even got a gun? I’m not gettin’ it done in your ranch with all that wood n’ dirt everywhere it’ll get all messed up.” John was winning if he was already talking as though it were only a question of where it would happen and not if it would happen at all. This was a good sign for John, because he was hoping to convince Nick to do other things in order to make this happen.

“I promise you I will do it somewhere safe, Nick, you just need to keep saying yes, ok? You might not like where we end up.” John grinned darkly at Nick, leaning over the table at him with his elbows on his knees, trying to goad him into following him. Nick sighed and shook his head. 

“John Seed you son of a bitch, you’re always leadin’ me astray.” He stops for a minute, concentrating on his words. “...it better look as fuckin’ good as your ones do. Ugh, I fuckin’ hate this. Alright, let’s get goin’.” Nick slapped his thighs and gestured to John that he was waiting for him to get up and lead the way. This had gone perfectly for John, who honestly had not stopped thinking about what the stretch of skin on Nick Rye’s arm where his tan faded to a pale freckled shoulder from years of wearing t-shirts in the sun would look with his ink marking him since the day he caught him looking at his own tattoos. He wanted to see the stains he left under his skin peeking out enough from Nick’s shirt just enough for everyone to see. Nick and he were close, and everyone new it, but John was jealous and greedy, and he wanted everyone to look at Nick and think of him. He knew why he had had to carve Greed into his own skin, and it was greed he still grappled with when it came to Nick Rye. The one sin he hadn’t been able to strike out yet. John stretched a wolfish grin at him as he stood up, holding a hand out to help Nick up too and dragging him sharply towards the door to the bar by it, barey giving Nick enough time to grab his jacket off his chair and shout a goodbye to Mary May behind the bar as he was yanked out. 

Nick shivered in the cool air outside, but John didn’t let up pulling him down the street for a second. He had a nervous excitement in his stomach bubbling uncomfortably after all that beer, not sure if his shivering was from being cold or the anticipation of what was coming. He often found himself feeling excited when he was with John, whether from the newness of it all and the constant possibility of a wild night causing havoc like tonight, or from actually being excited to see and spend time with him, he wasn’t sure. He noticed his mouth tugging involuntarily into a big smile when he caught sight of John coming towards him, but he was pretty sure it was just his excitement at having a close friend he actually relished spending time with. John hadn’t noticed the shivering, and had started marching purposefully down the street from the bar, urging Nick to hurry up and follow him, swaying slightly. 

“Come on now, Nick, we have to go this way. Time’s a-wastin’.” Nick snickered at that hint of southern creeping in to John’s way of talking now. He tried so hard to shake that off. 

“Yo John, hold up, where the fuck are we goin’?” Nick stood shouting at him as he kept on walking, his coat swishing ridiculously behind him. He didn’t stop, and Nick had no choice but to jog after him. He came to an abrupt stop at the tattoo parlour in town, fishing in his pocket for something as Nick caught up. When he pulled a set of lockpicks out, Nick shook his head. “Ah fuck, John, you ass, we are not breakin’ in here.”

“Nick would you keep quiet, we are on a mission here, and I will not have you getting us caught before we manage that.” Managing to get the lock open with a satisfying click, John quickly pushed the door open and pulled Nick inside, yanking the blind covering the door down behind them. If this had been anywhere else in the world, there probably would have been an alarm system.

“You are gonna get the Sheriff back down here, John, and he is gonna be pissed.” Nick whispered sharply, as John rummaged around the tattoo shop in the dark, looking for the light switch. They crackled on to life dimly, John only turning a couple on so they wouldn’t be quite so conspicuous to anyone passing by. Just enough to work with. “Alright. Take your shirt off.”

“...what?” Nick looked dumbfounded. John turned round to face him again, rolling his eyes at him and shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he wasn’t following. 

“Take your shirt off. I can’t give you a tattoo with your shirt on. Get it off.” He looked at Nick like he was telling a child off, hands on his hips. Nick was sure he would be tapping his foot if he wasn’t trying quite so hard to stand totally upright. But he knew he was also right, and obliged, trying his best to take his jacket and shirt off without messing up his hat too much. John had returned to searching for the tools he would need, mainly as pretence for turning to let Nick take his shirt off in peace. But as the fabric hitched up on his stomach, struggling to get the shirt off over his cap (the dumb drunk wouldn’t take the hat off first), and slowly pulling up to reveal the rest of his chest, John suddenly realised firstly he had never seen Nick with his shirt off, and secondly that he had been watching him the whole time he did this. Hoping he had managed to divert his attention before Nick noticed, though both were too drunk to be doing anything with any subtlety, and loudly rattled around in drawers, pulling out the supplies he would need for the job. Nick cleared his throat nervously, sniffing and crossing his arms. 

“Alright then, how are we gonna do this?” He almost seemed self-conscious at being shirtless but he told himself it was just because it was cold and he was still struggling to see straight, the alcohol in him dulling everything with a warm glow. 

“Get on the chair.” John said, bringing the supplies over to the bench by the tattooing chair and taking his coat off, throwing it over the cash desk and pulling on a pair of black latex gloves. He struggled to get his fingers in, and pulled them on roughly with a grunt of annoyance. Nick watched this while trying to hide his laughter, earning a glare from John. “Get. In. The. Chair. Nick.” He giggled again, sitting on the chair and feeling as though if he were sober he would find John’s tone a lot more threatening. John began rolling his shirt sleeves up, making sure they would stay up as best he could with his gloved hands. 

“Shoulda done that first, I’d say, John.” He earned another glower, this time with a sharp grin as John pulled a stool over to sit next to Nick’s arm, never once breaking eye contact with him. Nick could feel his stomach jump again, but he said it was nervousness at the imminent tattooing more than anything.

“I don’t tell you how to fuckin’... fly planes, Nick.”

“Actually, you tell me all the time--”

“Alright, shut up, you know what I mean.” John grabbed a paper towel and a spray bottle. “Let’s get started. Hold out your arm.” Nick was wary of this, but more wary of John giving him shit for not doing it. He does as he’s told. “This is alcohol, it’s going to clean your skin.” Nick nods at him, saying nothing, the nerves and the booze taking over him and keeping him quiet. John sprays some of the liquid onto Nick’s arm, wiping it gently with the paper towel, his other hand wrapped around his arm keeping it in place. Nick watches him closely, anxiety bringing up goosebumps where the alcohol cools on his skin and John notices. He was being surprisingly gentle, trying to soothe Nick and hoping he hadn’t taken things too far for him. He said nothing as he switched bottles, bringing another up to Nick’s arm. “I’m going to need to scrub your skin and shave it, or the hair’ll fuck up the healing.” Nick nodded again, just watching John’s hands. They moved slowly and hypnotically and they were the only thing Nick could focus on. It felt like his ears were ringing, his drunkenness overwhelming him. He vaguely liked the way the gloves looked on John’s hands with the tattoos above them. Nick zoned out as John prepared the rest of the tools for him, doing everything with the same slow care a Priest might do a Communion, shaving Nick’s skin as lightly as possible. He needed the focus to fight the haze from his still lingering buzz, but he also wanted to do everything perfectly. This was Nick, not some cultist brought in for marking by his brothers, and not his own scarred flesh. He knew this was a make or break moment for Nick’s trust in him. 

He could tell Nick had spaced out on him, either regretting his choice or trying to stop from hurling, and while John was sure the angle would be better on the stool, his own drunken mind told him he needed to switch things up to get Nick to focus on him. He also knew that for some god damn reason he wanted to be closer to Nick’s skin, noticing the freckles that dusted his shoulders and the dark hair snaking its way down his belly. Oh who was he kidding, he couldn’t get enough of Nick, his heart hammered in his chest when he met him, he tried anything to make him laugh, anything to get him to indulge in mischief with him. John had tried his best to suppress any feelings towards anyone since he had rejoined his brothers, knowing full well he faced either rejection once they discovered their plan or that he would have to atone for his sins in front of the Father. And he knew that he couldn’t reveal more to Nick than necessary or risk upsetting their plans. But the day he had dropped by Rye & Sons aviation looking to buy the place up and saw Nick sweating and dirty as he worked on Carmina, wiping his hands on the rag that hung from his back pocket before shaking his, John knew he was finished. Making his mind up, he climbed up on top of Nick on the chair, knee either side of his thighs and tilted over Nick’s shoulder to be able to reach where he would be tattooing. Nick grunted with the sudden weight on him, his attention snapping to John’s face with that little furrow he got between his brows he got when he was trying to work out what was going on. “...better angle from here.” John said softly, his eyes dark and shining. 

“...I dunno that I’ve ever seen ‘em do it this way.”

“...Well, I am self-taught so… It’s better this way, trust me.” Nick seemed to take his word for it. He didn’t know anything about tattooing so he just assumed John was right. If he was sober he might have taken issue with John shifting his position to lean further across, the tight jeans rubbing against the skin of his lower stomach as the weight shifted further up. John was essentially straddling him, and he didn’t mind. That was odd. He found himself having to stop the reflex of putting his hands on John’s legs. 

“You just… you just make sure it’s good, alright? Or I’ll fuckin’ kill you.” John let out a low chuckle, picking up his prepared tattoo gun and settling into the right position. He caught Nick’s eyes, searching them for the sign that he was ready to continue and reassuring him with that wild glint he had that had convinced Nick to do so many stupid things in the past. 

“...this might hurt a little bit, Nick. But it is better to keep going once we start. Are you ready?” Nick nodded at him, but John pushed down on him with his hips, needing more. “You have to say it to me, Nick. You have to say yes.” Nick inhaled deeply, steeling himself and clenching his jaw before practically growling. 

“...Yes, I’m ready. You shit.” John could feel his breath catch in his throat with Nick’s words, finding himself wishing he was agreeing to something else. He buzzed the gun a few times, testing the action before settling into place, using his hand and keep Nick’s arm steady as he started the linework. John had done enough freehand work to know what he was doing, clouded as his judgement was, and he moved confidently as he worked. Nick had drawn a sharp intake of breath when the needle first pierced his skin, and John turned his head to look at him, eyes betraying the concern he had, but he just stared right back at him with a look of stubborn determination, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath he drew. Nick bit his lip to take the edge off, and said nothing, nodding at John to keep going. John knew the linework was going to take an hour or two, and they would definitely starting sobering up by then, and he hoped to God Nick wasn’t going to change his mind. He tried focusing purely on what he was doing, pausing to wipe the skin every now and then to clear the ink and blood, but Nick’s skin was flushed a hot and raw pink around the edges of the marks John had drawn on him, and watching the red and black smear away to leave a fresh clean line on the pale expanse of Nick’s bicep was like unwrapping a gift for him, and it was driving him crazy. Seeing his lines on Nick’s skin, knowing everyone else would see his lines on Nick’s skin had his heart hammering in his chest, and he noticed his own breathing had grown heavy. 

Nick in his attempt to focus on anything but the angry sting in his skin with every punch of the needles found himself looking at John’s chest, at the curve of his neck so close to his face as he leaned over to work on him. He could see the clean line John had cut into his beard just under his jaw, the length of cord from his neck hanging out from his shirt enough to let the key attached to it graze against his chest. He hadn’t noticed that before, and he watched it swing with John’s movements. He could see what looked like the lines of a tattoo hidden under the folds of John’s shirt, red lines scratched deeply through it like he had tried to take it off, and he could feel his stomach drop at the thought it might be a tattoo gone wrong and that he was actually terrible at this. But John smelled heady, deep and sweet, all at once. Expensive. He could feel himself being drawn into it, is was so fucking good, and it was just one more thing he realised he hadn’t noticed about him before. God damn, he was overwhelmed by everything happening to him, and he leaned his head back against the headrest of the chair, eyes screwed shut and lips clamped firmly between his teeth. His shift in position caused John to readjust, hips almost grinding down into his, and this time he wasn’t quick enough to fight the reaction to grab onto them with his free hand. He heard John’s breath hitch at the unexpected grip, the surprise making John put his full weight down on Nick, and revealing another thing about John to him. He was fucking hard. 

“...are you… are you hard right now?” Nick’s eyes were wide and on John instantly, who had paused mid air with the gun still buzzing in his right hand looking so shocked Nick could have almost laughed. 

“You-- I just-- You moved and I--”

“And, what, I gave you a ragin’ boner?” John wasn’t looking at him, eyes blown wide and staring at some spot off by the door, still frozen in spot but coherent enough to stop the gun buzzing. But Nick didn’t sound angry, he actually sounded… amused? 

“Y-you threw me off, I could have ruined the ink--”

“Are you some kind of sick weirdo, John Seed? You get off on pain or somethin’?” Nick didn’t know how he felt about this whole situation, but his face was pulled into a smirk as he teased the usually so collected John. This was just too precious. John was breathing long and deeply, sitting the gun down on the tray next to them and pulling back to at least mean he wasn’t pushing into Nick with his crotch any more. He spoke in a low tone with a brutal edge warning Nick this wasn’t something he was joking with.

“Is this going to cause a problem, Nick?” He growled. “I haven’t finished the ink yet. It’s going to look stupid.” His cheeks had flared an angry red, and Nick didn’t think he had ever seen him look so menacing. Nick had felt a jolt of excitement in his stomach when John rubbed against him, a surge of adrenaline flowing through him that told him whatever the hell else was going on in his mind, his body liked where this was going. Nick had never been with a guy before, and only a few girls in the town, and his sexuality was never something he had ever stopped to think about. As far as Nick was concerned, he liked who he liked, and so far those had only happened to be women. He never had a problem with people being gay, he just wasn’t. But John Seed had consumed him from day one, talking for hours with him about Carmina, about his own plane he was buying, telling him stories of the places he’d seen, asking him about growing up in Montana, taking him out flying, getting him to take over a helicopter for the first time, drinking beer with him. And those god damn eyes made him feel like the greatest thing on Earth when he looked at him. He had it bad, and maybe it wasn’t the time to keep fighting it any more. John was doing his best to stare Nick down, but he could see the emotions filling his eyes, making that excitement pulse through him again. Nick sat up in the chair, back upright and forcing John fully into his lap, their faces inches apart and not close enough for either of them. The edges of Nick’s mouth curled up to a smirk at John’s total loss of composure, at how both of them were nervous and excited like teenagers. 

“Nah, I don’t think it’s gonna be a problem, John. I just might not be kinky enough for you.” He could tell John was searching him suspiciously, as though testing this wasn’t some kind of elaborate prank. Like he didn’t believe Nick wasn’t throwing him off of him and telling him to get the hell out. But they were both trying new things that night, and John leaned as close to Nick’s face as he could with that damn cap in the way. 

“Take that fucking hat off, you idiot.” Nick’s smirked widened, and he threw his cap over to where John’s coat lay, running his hand through his hair to try and straighten it out from being under a hat all day, but before he could do much good to it, John had grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the chair, finally closing the gap between them in a rough kiss, like he was still trying to prove his anger through it. Nick was surprised at the feeling of John’s beard rubbing against his, grazing the skin around his lips as he quickly deepened the kiss, teeth nipping his bottom lip like he’d been dreaming of doing it for months. He actually enjoyed it. It felt like John was always supposed to have been kissing him, and he almost felt annoyed they hadn’t done it sooner, the pair pulling hungrily at each other now like they couldn’t bear not to be touching all over. John shifted his hips teasingly in Nick’s lap, and he could feel himself getting hard at the friction between that ass that had been so admired by the people of Hope County, and their jeans. John made this contented little moan in the back of his throat that broke Nick completely, making him open his mouth to kiss John even deeper, sliding their tongues together and holy fuck--

“Is that a fucking tongue piercing?” Nick gasped, his forehead pressed against John’s trying to steady his breathing. John grinned. 

“Is that a problem, Nick?” His voice was back to his typical smooth crooning and Nick found himself so hard he wanted to fuck John there and then. 

“Oh my fucking God, no it is not.” He kissed John desperately again, wrapping his arms his waist to pull him flush against him noticing now that John was fully clothed against him. He couldn’t help rolling his hips up against John as he felt the warm metal of his tongue piercing drawing against his tongue again, discovering a whole new set of things that drove him wild. The friction wasn’t enough for him, and he found himself wishing John would just take the fucking lead already and take things further. Nick was too nervous that he might not actually want this, and had no idea what to do with another guy. He didn’t know if John did, but he was willing to bet if there was a situation John liked to be in control of, it was sex. Oh god, were they going to have sex? John pushed Nick back until he was against the chair again, gloved hands moving slowly to unbuckle Nick’s jeans as he kept kissing him, relishing the way every slide of his tongue had Nick tugging at him like he was hooked, the back of his fingers rubbing intoxicatingly against the soft hair on his stomach as he worked the belt loose. He stopped to sit back and look at Nick, his pupils dark and wide as Nick groaned in frustration, wanting nothing more than to completely undo him and leave him a moaning sweaty mess underneath him. 

“You have to tell me you want this, Nick.” He traced over the half-finished lines of Nick’s tattoo with one hand, the latex catching the sore skin as it dragged against it, earning him another hiss from Nick at the sting. “You have to say yes.” Nick’s chest was heaving, and he looked like he wanted to tear him apart. 

“You know I do. You know I want his, John.” John rolled his hips down against Nick, and he grabbed onto either side of them with a vice-like grip. 

“You have to say it.” John growled. 

“Yes! Yes, I fuckin’ need this ok? Just fuckin’ please, would you--” John was on him like a rash, kissing him hard enough to leave bruises, teeth scraping against him desperate, and Nick’s hands clamped down on John’s hips even tighter, marking the skin as he pulled him down roughly against him trying to rub any friction he could out. John quickly unhooked his own belt, unbuttoning the jeans as best as he could with one hand as he used the other to finish unbuttoning Nick’s. He was sure that any hesitation would throw Nick off and make him end this, and he quickly pulled enough fabric out of the way that he had both their dicks out finally, Nick groaning at the feeling of being unrestricted at last and that John Seed had him hard and ready in his hand. He shifted his hips again to be at the right angle to bring both of them together, though he staved off, not ready to let this play out fully just yet. Reaching over to the tray next to them again to scoop up the tub of vaseline he had ready to calm Nick’s angry skin after he had finished tattooing them, he kissed Nick sporadically between opening the tub up and dipping two latex covered fingers into the gel, enough to lubricate his hand and stop Nick getting rubbed raw by his gloved hands. He could feel the excitement building at the thought and his cock twitched in response, desperate for attention, but he wanted to touch Nick first, slowly wrapping his hand round the shaft again and pulling tantalisingly down, letting the vaseline smear across his fingers as he worked. Nick let out the most arousing low moan at the feeling, his head falling back to lean against the headrest of the chair as John’s hand started an agonising pace, the feeling of the slick gloves on his skin was like nothing he had felt before, and John could feel himself losing it at the sight of the man underneath him. 

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ.” Nick uttered softly, his words following each slow pump of John’s hand. John was grinning at Nick like he couldn’t believe his luck, not that he was watching, lost in the overwhelming feeling of what was being done to him. 

“You ought to watch your tongue, Nick.” John teased as he began quickening his pace ever so slightly, his grip firm and tight, and he could tell Nick was already leaking precum with each languid stroke. Nick was too lost to even register John was saying words, but John wanted his attention, and he wasn’t going to let this go that easily. Moving quickly enough that he could angle his head down, he shifted down so his tongue could join his hand, swiping it in a circle round the tip with his piercing so he didn’t get too much vaseline on his tongue and watched Nick disintegrate, his hips bucking up wildy at the feeling of the metal on his skin and grabbing John’s forearms with his nails digging hard into him. 

“F-fuckin’ shit, I just about lost it there, you son of a bitch.” John only smirked at him, moving as though he was going to do it again, but he was yanked roughly back up into place by Nick, forgetting the other man was bigger and definitely stronger than he was. Nick said nothing as he glared at him, but quickly broke it off to kiss him again, just as roughly as he had done before, fingers digging in to the flesh of John’s ass through his jeans as he moved their hips together and grinded against him needily. John brought his hand back down to touch Nick, using his other hand to bring both their dicks together finally, barely managing to keep a grip on both of them with one hand. They both gasped at the feeling of their skin against each other, at the friction of both cocks rubbing together in John’s slippery hand, and both began moving their hips to push against his grip. Their lack of coordination only gave them more friction, John warm and dry against Nick’s already coated dick, smooth latex adding a whole other sensation that quickly had both of them panting and leaking. There was no way this was going to be a drawn out affair. 

John was leaning over Nick now, jostled by the thrusting movements of his hips, thighs aching as he kept stroking them both, pressing his forehead against Nick’s again for some kind of stability as he kissed him furiously, moans dying in the back of his throat as his mouth was preoccupied with other things, Nick still tugging desperately at John’s hips as though it would say all the things to him his mind wouldn’t. That this was amazing. That this wasn’t a mistake. That he wasn’t just drunk out of his mind. That he wanted this. That he wanted him. Both were close now, and Nick’s face flushed with exertion as he moved more and more erratically against John, desperate from release. John broke their kiss, his other hand settling loosely on Nick’s neck as he spoke darkly to him. “Are you going to come for me, Nick?” Nick was biting his lip angrily, brow creased and eyes closed as he chased the rising tension in his stomach, barely able to focus on what John was saying, and he tightened his grip ever so slightly to get him to look at him. “Nick, I need you to say it.” He was nodding now, frantically, bucking into John again. His grip tightened again, enough for Nick to really feel the squeeze against his airways and he looked up at John now finally, the man looking at him like a predator would a wounded animal, like he wanted to lap every part of him up. “Say it.” 

“Yes--!” It was more of a yelp as he came suddenly, every muscle in his body straining with the relief of it, slick and hot against his belly, against John’s jeans and his hand and his dick, and it had John following suit, his grip on Nick’s neck painful as he came a few strokes after Nick did and ruining both of them. They were both completely wrecked, trying to catch their breath and clinging to each other painfully. Neither really knew what to do from here, foreheads still together and neither looking at each other. After a few moments like that, no sound other than their breathing, John sat back in Nick’s lap, Nick twitching with the movement as he did, leaning his head back against the headrest again with his eyes closed, breathing steady. 

“Nick… We need to finish your ink.” John said quietly, gauging again if this had lost him the man he was obsessed with, if this was too far and he had ruined everything, but he heard a low rumble of a laugh in Nick’s chest, and he looked up at him with tired eyes. 

“Fuck the ink. I am goin’ home to my bed if I can even walk, and once I have slept off my fuckin’ hangover and had a shower, then you can finish my ink, and then you are gonna do that thing with your tongue again so help me God, or I will cut your damn balls off.” John’s face spread into a wide smile. 

“Is that a promise, Nick Rye?”

“Yes. Yes, that is a fuckin’ promise.”


End file.
